It's Real
by breann eliza jean
Summary: After the Man dies, he experiences some unsettling truths. One-shot.


It's Real

Breann Pope

"He slept close to his father that night and held him but when he woke the next morning his body was cold and stiff. He sat there for a long time weeping and then he got up and walked out through the woods to the road. When he came back he knelt beside his father and held his cold hand said his name over and over again." pg. 289

When he woke up all he could see was nothing. There was no dark and light., no right or wrong. Just nothing. There was a sense of bliss in the air. Something he thought he forgot. He felt as if there was no way out. It was claustrophobic. It was like he was in between two plates of the earth and they were slowly being put together. The tightness increased. A slow scalding heat started crawling from his lungs, and slowly slithering out, using its venom to make the burning unbearable. The incalescence was intense. He couldn't remember the past, except he knew there was one. He also knew this was the end of his future. The heat increased. He knew soon he would go mad from the sheer torture that it was not to escape the searing pain that was burning continuously throughout his body. It was all over now. Part of the pain had been a constant. He knew that the burning would never end. He deserved it. He deserved this hell. Then it all disappeared.

He could see. He could see the boy, see him running toward the woman. She seemed pleasant. He couldn't move, just observe. Watching the boy go with the woman. There was a girl! He completed the task God entrusted him with. He now had his mistakes forgiven. He fulfilled his duty. He could now rest. It went black.

Good morning Mr. Smith.

Was he in heaven? Hell? Why is this woman calling him Mr. Smith?

He panicked. This must be some cannibal citadel. He is going to be eaten. He didn't die. He was drugged. They took the boy with them. He failed.

Mr. Smith? Can you hear me?

Yes.

Well, you are in the physiological ward at St. Jerome's Hospital in New York.

He knew she was lying just to make sure he didn't resist. He opened his eyes. The woman talking to him was around his age. She had long flowing hair like a river going down a stream. She reminded him of someone. His wife. His beautiful wife who couldn't take the pain in living in a dead world.

My name is Judy, and I'm your nurse.

Nurse.

Yes, Mr. Smith, a good citizen found you laying on a road, having subconscious attacks.

At first we believed it was a stroke, but then the seizures stopped and you just never woke up.

He couldn't believe it. He wouldn't. He saw the world ending and its affects. He lived for years in that extinct world.

I don't believe you.

You must, said the woman. It is crucial to your recovery.

Your a hallucination.

I am not, Sir, I'm sorry you are so confused.

There was a odd, tense, long silence. He looked around at the cold, brick walls, and he could see a hallway with many people bustling through. He saw a window. He tried to get up. He was strapped.

Let me go please.

You can't walk around supervised. Do you need to use the washroom? Are you hungry?

He needed to see that window. He needed to confirm that this whole ruse was a lie.

Let me see the window!

He was furious. He had never been more scared or angry in his life.

Sorry sir, you are not allowed to be near any windows until we diagnose your mental condition.

He started shaking whatever he was strapped to. He couldn't get it to move.

I need to see the window, I need to know.

Know what?

You know what.

She walked away to a piece of the wall that had holes in it and a button.

Could I have someone down to room 364 to sedate the patient.

Sure, they'll be there in a moment.

Sorry, but if you aren't going to listen, this is what has to be done.

Let me go. You have other people to eat. Please! I need to see my boy. Where is my boy?

Two large men walked in. They had a silver thing in their hand. They stuck it in him.

It went black.

He woke up in the same room. There was very little sound, and very little people. He was still strapped to what he could now see was a bed. He waited for someone to come. He waited for what could be hours. He drifted reluctantly into sleep.

Are you going to cooperate today Mr. Smith?

His eyes snapped open.

How did you know I was awake?

This machine here monitors your heart rate. Your heart rate changes when you wake up or fall asleep.

Where is my boy?

He was desperate to find him. He had not yet completed his mission. He was only dreaming.

Your boy, sir? You don't have a son. We couldn't find any of your kin. You didn't have any ID and no one reported someone of your description missing.

Your lying.

I'm afraid I'm not Mr. Smith.

Please let me see my boy.

He knew that he couldn't do anything more then beg. He could feel the tears running down his face like great rivulets of a waterfall going of a mountain.

Please let me see my boy. Let him go.

You can eat me, torture me, use me as a slave, catamite, or footstool if you please.

Just let him go.

Mr. Smith we can't let you go, you need serious help. Everything you remember is in your mind. It wasn't real. There was no apocalypse. You have no son. You have to accept the fact.

I can prove it.

Let me see the window.

Now.

I can't, you are on suicidal watch, we are afraid that you can't cope with the truth.

Let me see the window.

No.

Let me see my son.

You don't have a son, sir.

What do I have?

I have nothing "here". I have nothing there. You couldn't leave me on the brink of death. You had to continue with this farce.

Then kill me.

My boy is probably dead.

I failed.

Everything.

Eat me.

Something deserving of my status.

The lowest worm of the earth, the dirt on your shoe, the fly you so unmercifully kill.

Just do it.

Sorry Mr. Smith but your going to have to be put under anesthesia again.

Go ahead.

Kill me.


End file.
